


Sweet Irony

by DarthSuki



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Reader - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Slice of Life, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-06-15 10:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15410532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: You are an android who was originally designed to be a grief counselor, helping people through periods of pain and loss. After the events of the revolution, you’re left in a world where you have personal freedom–but freedom at the cost of knowing your place in said world, a purpose for existing.As you find yourself working at the Detroit Police Department as a interrogation assistant and criminal profiler, you learn to feel the same emotions that you had once worked to identify and help others with--all while trying to figure out why so many of those feelings seem to harbor on Gavin Reed, your work partner and your....something.You're still piecing that detail together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a multi-part commission for Relia, whose birthday is today! I hope that you had a very happy birthday Relia--and hopefully this fic makes it even better :3c

Emotions were never something you could see yourself feeling. From the moment of your creation, they were merely a  _ thing _ , another aspect of your purpose, a list of symptoms and behaviors that you could neatly categorize into a list, note them down internally; emotions were certainly something you were made to be an expert of, but by no means were you ever ready to  _ feel  _ them so acutely as you did on the day of Deviancy.

Day of Deviancy, the Great Deviancy, Android Freedom Day--so many titles for the same thing which, despite the grandeur that most people associated with many of the names, was a generally unremarkable, if auspicious day. It was the day that Cyberlife, in one massive sweep across the globe, cut almost all of its influences and control over the androids it produced.

It was the day that androids, at least in some respect of the newly-found law, became free. Deviancy had become a token word for it, plastered on headlines and across websites, spilling out the mouths of newsmakers, humans and androids alike. It was the moment, two months ago to the day, that you found yourself without a purpose. Freedom had not been as wonderful as so many spoke about, leaving you gasping for breath in the ocean of possibilities and options; freedom was less a mercy than it was a curse, leaving you and your mind with feelings and thoughts that you were never trained or ready to filter through--at least not personally.

It was genuinely quite ironic.

* * *

Working at the Detroit Police Station had its share of quirks, though none of them hampered your ability to do your job. The entrance and its connected rooms were always loud--the sound of crying children or grumbling teenagers interspersed with called names from the front desk. Those who weren’t there to submit statements were usually there to pick up friends or loved ones who had been detained--and sometimes they made their displeasure or worry for their loved one very, very obvious.

And, on the first day of your new job, one of them decided that you were going to be the one to hear about it; you heard her commotion from the moment that you stepped into the precinct. You turned your eyes to see her just as she was hurriedly approaching you, she a middle-aged woman with a smug-faced teenaged boy just a few steps behind her.

“Why was my son arrested?” The voice was shrill, cracking with cold anger or entitlement--there was a 76% chance it was the former, given her inflection. “He wasn’t breaking a single law and an officer harassed him! Absolutely harassed!”

It took a second for you to understand what was going on--a second longer than it would have taken two months before that day--and it became clear that she had identified you from the other civilians in the precinct from the badge clipped onto your collar, name and position clearly labeled in big, bold lettering. Considering the woman’s tone, the angry flush over her cheeks and the exhausted faces of the androids just a few paces behind her at the front desk (assumedly who had  _ just _ been dealing with her), she was simply  _ searching _ for someone to take her anger out upon.

Your face remained neutral as you met the woman’s sharp eyes, only glancing away so that you could see her son’s face and briefly cross-check it through the database of the precinct to determine exactly what he had been arrested for.

Ah, yes, there he was. Jamison Sanders, 18 years old, arrested the night prior for vandalism and public drunkenness. It was a wonder that he hadn’t been taken in for longer, but it wasn’t a stretch to hypothesis that his quick release came largely from his mother’s deep wallet.

“Given the fact that the officer involved had the entire interaction videotaped,” You began in a soft, sensible tone. “--I can assure you that your son was not harassed in any way beyond what was needed to detain him. You can send a formal request for the bodycam video through the front desk.” After a moment, you pointed just beyond where the woman was standing, back to the place you had assumed she stormed off from when they either asked her to leave or outright said there wasn’t anything they could do to satiate her fury.

Perhaps she had been looking for a reaction, perhaps she had wanted tears, frustrated terror or perhaps she genuinely expected that you would have been able to give her a different solution than what she got otherwise--regardless, the woman’s lips pulled into a disgusted grimace when she came to the realization that you weren’t going to give her what she wanted.

And it was then that her eyes shifted, glancing somewhere above your gaze and on your face.

Her look went even more sour, if that was even possible.

“Oh,” She said, voice suddenly sickly sweet, the feigned tone of ignorance or naivety. She took a step closer to you and leaned out a hand to lay it over your shoulder. It felt as cold as her expression, spilling with fake sincerity. “I guess I didn’t see that you weren’t  _ human _ , no wonder none of you are any help with a genuine issue.”

“Ma’am,” You try to find the words to make her leave you alone, to let you continue with your first day of work. You try to smother down an unfamiliar sensation building up in your chest, making it feel tight and hard to think. “I don’t think I can-”

“You can’t do  _ anything,  _ can you?” The woman spoke over you as if you hadn’t even said anything, all the while baring down on you with her cold eyes. “I bet the officer that arrested my boy was plastic all the same and-”

Luckily, you didn’t have to hear how the woman intended to finish her thought--a sudden voice and body interrupted her; she quickly removed her hand from your shoulder as the both of you moved to look who had pushed themselves abruptly into the conversation.

“If you want to make a complaint, the new hire here isn’t gonna be able to take it ma’am.”

The voice was rough, taught and with a hint of sleep deprivation that concerned you lightly. It’s owner certainly looked the part, a man with dark circles under his eyes but a gaze that spit fire all the same, practically glaring at the woman, daring her to try and argue with him as she had tried to do with you.

She looked at him, then to you, and finally strut off with an angered huff of breath.

“God damn androids taking over the police force,” she said offhandedly, but loud enough that you were sure she wasn’t trying to hide her thoughts as she left the building. Her son trailed after her, hands stuffed in his pockets and looking if only a hair less smug than he had before.

There was a moment of silence between you and the man as the air settled. You were acutely aware of your breath, unneeded as it was, pass over your lips and fill your body. It was part of your design, breathing, as simple and intricate as the motion was--part of your design solely to put people at ease; there was nothing more worrisome than trying to talk to someone when it didn’t look like they were even breathing.

“So,” The man’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, leaving you to remember he was still standing next to you. “You’re one of the new ones here, huh?” That was when you took in his appearance more thoroughly, taking note of his face, his eyes, the overall mildly unkempt nature. If it wasn’t for the badge that hung from his belt, loosely clipped, you wouldn’t have even thought the man worked for the precinct. 

For the first time in a long time (or at least as long as you could remember since your creation) it was hard to read the man’s tone. He sounded equally annoyed and relieved, angry and tired, several emotions clashing together in the intricate details for the way he held his body language and controlled in tone--the confusion unnerved you, if only slightly, but it was enough that you didn’t realize that he reached his hand out until he was gently tapping a finger against your LED.

“Try not to get so worked up with people here,” he said, low and unreadable. “You’re gonna deal with a whole lot worse than some bent up rich mother trying to buy-out her kid’s crimes.”

When he pulled his hand back to shove in his pocket, you realized that your LED had been flashing, glaringly red--

You realized that what you had been feeling moments before  _ was _ fear, frustration and momentary confusion that halted your thoughts and ability to respond to the situation properly.

Deviancy. It really was more of an annoyance than a help to you, making you feel things you were still so wholly unused to.

You pushed the thought aside to instead introduce yourself to the man, thanking him politely for his intervention of the situation.

“They always seem to know who the new ones are,” he says, shrugging. “But that’s nothing too crazy. You gotta be the new interrogator right?” You saw his eyes flick to the name on your badge, a moment of recognition within their careful gaze.

You nod slowly, but take a moment to lightly,  _ gently _ correct him a slight.

“Interrogating is my secondary function,” You try to collect the name on his badge as you speak. Gavin Reed. “My primary purpose here is criminal profiling and psychological assistance wherever that may be needed within the precinct.”

“A shrink, eh?” Gavin let out an amused huff. “Compared to some of the ‘droids I’ve met, that’s not the craziest thing I’ve heard. So uh, gonna break it to you straight--the partner you said you were gonna have? That’d be me-” he pressed a thumb to his chest for further, if obvious indication of what he meant. “As long as you don’t get in the way of any of my cases, we’ll do just fine together, cool?”

You blinked and, after another moment of that cursed lag in your response time, nodded. It seemed only the most appropriate answer since you still couldn’t get a good read on the man, his indicators of intent and emotion constantly leaning from one thing to another.

But at least he smiled, holding out a hand after a moment for you to take.

“Gavin Reed; but I bet you already knew that by searching my face or shit in your uh, database right?”

You took his hand in your own and, for a flicker of a moment, a smile on your lips mirrored his.

“I actually saw it on your badge.” A flicker of warmth, which you would later categorize as genuine amusement, filled your thoughts. “But it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Reed--I trust you’ll find me to be a productive partner in our work together.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m telling you everything that I know,” A woman said, her voice as shaky as she herself looked. Her hair was a mess, her eyes fearful and her body with a plethora of nicks and scrapes that revealed the grey metal and plastic beneath. “I  _ didn’t _ kill him, I--I absolutely didn’t kill him.”

She looked so small as she sat in the interrogation chair, centered in an empty room. She looked ready to bolt, ready to melt down from stress alone--

But that was why you were there, present and watching the scene unfold through the one-way glass that looked into the room. You were well-equipped to keep an eye on her stress levels without disturbing the interrogation itself, though you could already tell that Gavin’s….methods...were starting to force the android in that direction. 

“It doesn’t help you at all to lie about it,” Gavin’s voice was a step below a growl, aggravation making his own stress-levels spike (not helpful in such a situation, he couldn’t imagine that it was going to get him a confession at this rate). “That blue blood of yours was all over his dead body--we found the  _ murder weapon _ .”

At that point, Gavin stood abruptly, his chair’s legs scraping loudly against the floor. The woman tensed visibly at the motion, pressed back into her chair as he stood over her--he didn’t hover, but it wasn’t hard to tell how the motion frightened her. There was something there, something more that Gavin just wasn’t seeing--little nonverbal cues that he didn’t have the training nor the talent to spot.

So you hit the button. It opened the microphone and speaker between the interrogation and observation room, preceding your voice with a short, sharp noise. Gavin’s eyes moved to the one-way mirror as your voice carefully fell from the speaker.

“You are needed in the observation room, Mr. Reed.”

It was a partial lie, but one for the sake of the woman in the chair as much as it was for Gavin; his temper was starting to flare, annoyance and aggravation fueling the fiery ambition that you could see so clearly in his eyes from the day that you met him. The last thing that the two of you need is to compromise the investigation just because Gavin couldn’t keep his aggression in check.

You stepped out of one room just as he stepped out of the other. Your eyes met with his and, surprisingly enough, the man didn’t try to argue with you; Gavin certainly wasn’t a glowing ray of sunshine as he passed, letting out a string of low grumbling, but he didn’t stop you from stepping into the interrogation room.

After all, connecting people was what you were  _ programmed _ to do.

* * *

You encountered a plethora of problems while you spoke to the woman--not external issues, of course, but things that kept you from being as clear, concise and level-headed as you would have liked (a drop of 14% efficiency in understanding the woman’s motives and intentions, to be exact). You were able to talk the android through the charges, explain to her the changes in recent laws of human-on-android violence, and were eventually able to get a confession from her.

You hadn’t expected to feel….sad.

In the oddest twist of fate, your very programming was the reason for your internal issues. Empathy was a powerful tool after all, and it was the sole reason that humans could befriend animals or create vast communities. It was the driving point for the species’ social acts as a whole: empathy was what you were made to do, to exemplify, but it had never been the intention for you to genuinely feel it.

A therapist with the ability to understand, but never feel those same emotions of their client. To be able to understand their thoughts and pains on a fundamental level, but never in a way that would create  _ problems _ . Nevertheless, all through the interrogation of the young android woman, you couldn’t help but constantly feel that pain in the center of your chest.

She had been dealing with the man, the murdered, for a long time. As you spoke with the woman, you began to learn more and more detail behind the case, the subtle, fragile background information that Gavin had been searching for to near-sleeplessness for the last two nights. All it took was a gentle voice, a level-head and an intricate knowledge of the human mind and how it worked through trauma and fear. It was nothing short of what you were used to, made for and excelled in entirely.

The man had harassed her, repeatedly. You learned how the woman, a newly freed android, was able to legally rid herself of the man--her former  _ owner _ .

The word had hit you harder than you expected, the source of the pain in your chest you couldn’t quite decipher.

One thing to another, the topic moved, and with each detail came another until the woman was a mess, sobbing into her hands as she tried to babble an apology after another. All you could do by then was watch her, this woman who had been harassed by her former owner ever since she was lawfully freed as an android; she was pushed to defend herself against him when he tried to deactivate her.

How long had it been since you stepped into the room? Half an hour? An hour? Time, if only for that moment as you lay your eyes upon the woman, seemed to mean nothing anymore. All you could do was watch this woman cry and try to figure out how to deal with the plethora of error instances and raw  _ emotions _ that were swimming in your mind.

It  _ hurt _ to see her, to hear her story and her suffering. To think that, if you hadn’t been able to make the woman open up to you, she would have been deactivated regardless.

The law had started to shift to equality for androids, to see them as equals as humans in these sorts of cases, but there was still such a long way to go before they would be anywhere near perfect. The woman had been labeled as a killer, her motive unclear and her intentions unknown--but now she could maybe find some peace, maybe get through the legal system unmarred and able to start the new life that many other androids like her had wanted.

You spoke slowly as you saw yourself out of the room, telling her that you had all of the information you needed and that another officer would be in shortly. The chair scrapped against the floor as you stood, turned, and finally exited--

Meeting Gavin at the doorway. You felt the gentle shift of air as the door closed behind you, and his eyes on yours as they met in a few moments of careful silence.

You didn’t know why he was looking at you so intently; you couldn’t read the man’s thoughts, even minutely as the two of you stood there just outside the interrogation room. Just as you broke the gaze, letting your eyes fall to the ground, you couldn’t help but feel hyperfocused on the sound of Gavin’s voice as he finally spoke.

“I don’t understand you,” he said, quietly at first. “Don’t understand a lot of you--androids, I mean.”

His voice was smooth and without cracks or invertant pauses, but his awkward, almost unsure approach wasn’t subtle. He spoke calmly, which was a very hard turn from how he had been some time before (had he left to cool off? Vented to someone else? Had he watched you speak to the woman from start to finish?). Awkward, Gavin seemed awkward, trying to find words he wasn’t used to, speaking a language foreign to him.

Empathy?

“I still don’t know how I feel about....this-” he waved a hand between the two of you, indicating your partnership with him at work that he often avoided speaking about. “But uh--it’s….I mean. Fuck. Fucking hell, why are words so damn hard?” Gavin pressed his hands up to his face, rubbing at his eyes, which only seemed to make the dark circles beneath them look even worse. He hadn’t been getting good sleep for the last couple days, at minimum. 

“Take your time,” you said to him in a gentle, near-whisper of a response. The words sounded a bit heavier than intended, but with what to weigh them down, you weren’t sure. “It’s been a long several days for this case.”

He took a breath, then another, calming his voice back down to a gentle vibrato that sounded almost genuinely pleasant to you. You didn’t know why the sound of his voice sounded nice.

“I don’t know how a machine--fuck--I mean, how androids--how  _ you _ can feel and think the same as humans,” Gavin’s hands started to wring over themselves;  _ indication of nervousness and internal doubt.  _ “But you….don’t hafta do anything if it….makes you uncomfortable.”

For everything you had expected the man to say, his words shifted your thoughts to confusion.

“Uncomfortable?”

Your thoughts flashed back to the woman in the interrogation room. You remembered her voice, thick with misery. You could remember her eyes, filled with fear of a man who no longer lived, fear of a system that was a hair-trigger away from destroying her for a crime so different from the one committed. You could remember hearing her description and feeling it, something in your chest. 

You remember feeling so miserable, so sad, your internal processes almost haywire as you tried to stifle them back down.

Gavin merely looked at you for a moment, then started to reach out a hand towards you. He stopped, then quickly shoved both of them into his pockets, not meeting your eyes again as he spoke.

“I’ve had partners who’ve seen some shit and never told anyone about it.” He continued to avert his eyes from yours. “And they--well. Some of them aren’t in the police force anymore.” 

He stood in silence for a moment, simply breathing as he mulled over his words. Deeply troubling subject. Repressed thoughts about it, probably never told anyone. 

“...Some of them aren’t alive anymore.”

The serious tone of his voice firmed his words, no longer wavering, no longer searching for the right thing to say. He seemed confident in himself, finally meeting his gaze with yours and taking in a slow, deep breath to speak.

“If there’s something you can’t handle, just...let me know,” He pursed his lips. “I don’t understand all that much about androids and--and I’m still getting used to this shit, but just...let me know if something’s too much. I don’t want to lose a partner.”

Humans typically leave some parts of their thoughts unspoken, left to their own thoughts for one reason or another. Sometimes it was for matters of social correctness, and for others it was simply not to cause infighting. 

_ I don’t want to lose a partner...even if they are an android. _

But for Gavin--you didn’t sense that, you didn’t feel like there was more to be said to his concern--it made you feel odd, but pleasantly so. It was a strange feeling that, like a lot of things, you couldn’t accurately describe. 

“I appreciate that very much,” You said gently, honestly. “However, I promise you that I am still well-within my range of knowledge and experience to handle trauma and human emotion.”

Gavin looked at you, quirked a brow and huffed.

“You could’a fooled me-” he said, finally stepping around you so he could move into the interrogation room. “-because you read like an open book.”

The door closed behind him, leaving you alone in the corridor, his words confusing and making you wonder where you had faltered in your interrogation. Had your voice cracked, your expression wavered? You knew well enough that deviancy was affecting your methods, at least enough to annoy you, but was it obvious enough for him to notice?

But that’s when you felt something wet roll down your cheek, chin and throat. That was when you reached a hand up to your face and, with as much surprise as there was confusion, wipe your fingers across your cheek.

That was when you realized that you had been crying for almost the entire interrogation, that you had felt the cold, hard grip of empathetic misery grip you, that you had empathized with the woman in a way that your programing had never intended for you to experience, to  _ feel _ .

It was the first time that you had ever cried.


	3. Chapter 3

When the day ends, it’s as if the entire precinct changes--the air becomes more open, in a way, as day-shift workers hustle and bustle for home while the evening workers take their place. It’s a sensation that’s rather new to you, since you never had much of a sense of ‘going home for the day’ until you actually had a home to return to (even if it was rather plain). It’s not unsettling, but it certainly is unfamiliar, enough so that you find your eyes following everyone who leaves the main, front room of the precinct. 

One familiar face after another, sometimes casting a final farewell to the androids working at the front desk, but always looking relieved when they make those final steps out the doors to make their way home. Sometimes they left in groups, and other times it was just an individual--either way, it was intriguing to watch, having found a comfortable spot in one of the chairs of the area nearby, mostly where civilians would wait to submit reports or wait for loved ones let out on a bail from temporary holding.

You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel watching them leave.

It’s relaxing in some way, if only because your brain naturally wanted to mimic the look of relief on the officers’ and office workers’ faces as they got to go home for the night. Perhaps it was the light of the setting sun flowing through the clear glass doors, filling the precinct with that gentle, warm glow that you knew (memorized? Programmed to know?) often lent well to positive emotions in people in the right circumstance. Maybe still it was--

“Hey!”

A shout tugged you from your thoughts, and your delicate peripheral sensors immediately had your face turning to the source of the sound. It was hard to describe how you knew the word was meant for you, but you turned towards it all the same, catching sight of your work partner. 

Gavin Reed looked ready to leave for the day, wearing his outer coat and shouldering the dark packpage he brought each morning. Exhaustion seemed as obvious as ever in the dark circles beneath the man’s eyes (you hoped he would get a good night’s sleep eventually, sleep deprivation is bad for emotional health).

“Aren’t you leaving soon?” Gavin asked, his eyes filled with caution as he looks you over. It was either your silence, or your lacking expression looking back at him, but his eyes narrowed regardless. “You know, to go home? And...stuff?”

You blinked at him, somewhat curious at the man’s sudden interest in your daily end-of-work habits. They never seemed to have bothered him before the last few cases the two of you had worked on, though it could have largely been due to the fact that you both had spent many late nights on the job, one unable to progress without the help of the other’s expertise in their field.

“I don’t see what the problem is, Mr. Reed,” You say gently. Gavin does nothing to hide his emotions, his non-verbal gestures; he is as subtle as a police siren, so your processors have a plethora of data to filter through in coming to a conclusion about what his words aren’t communicating: almost too much, in all honesty. “Have I breached a policy by remaining in this area beyond my allotted shift?”

Gavin just...stares at you. He has the same expression on his face as when his computer has an issue he can’t understand, or if he’s having a frustrating day he can wrap his head around; eyes squinted, brows furrowed, looking tense and on the verge of slamming his head on the nearest desk and trying to pretend he’s dead to get out of work.

“You...have a home to go to, riiight?” he clings to the ‘i’ of the last word. Stalling for something, trying to convince himself that the question is something silly, something that shouldn’t need answering.

To his relief, you nod your head.

“I do have a small apartment as part of the 5093 protocol enacted shortly after the end of the events of Deviancy, I share it with two other androids working in this precinct.”

“Oh thank god,” Gavin’s words came out in a sigh. “That’s been on my mind for damn weeks, seein’ you all around.”

You find a smile working on your lips as you raise a brow in his direction.

“Did you think I was homeless?” It was a question half-grounded in curiosity, though the rest was merely in amusement that Gavin was under such an impression for so long. Was he scared to ask you outright? Had he tried to put an answer together on his own, despite being surrounded by other androids who would have the very same information available?

Though the policy was subtle, it wasn’t a complete secret---though it had been swept up with the measures taken against homelessness, combined with the reaffirmed promise to lower unemployment and the like. 

Gavin looked a bit unsure of what to say to your question.

“I...er…” His eyes didn’t meet yours for much longer, glancing everywhere but you. Your smile grew wider as you took in all the information he laid out on a metaphorical silver platter--he had been growing more open with you in the many cases you’d worked together on, easier to read and bond with (even if conversations were largely like the one you were having with him right then).

You couldn’t stop the soft laugh that fell from your lips.

“Were you going to offer your home to me if I had been?”

It was still a bit funny to watch the man stutter for an answer. You could even see his cheeks going a bit pink as he bumbled about, finally opting to change the topic entirely.

His eyes finally met yours again, serious, but gentle all the same.

“You wanna get a drink with me?”

Another moment of silence. Another blink from you.

“I know you can’t  _ actually _ drink something,” Gavin shrugged his shoulders and let out a huff. “But it’s weird, working with you and not like,  _ knowing _ you. Most teams go out for drinks n’ shit together to blow off steam and….stuff…”

The more the man talks, the more unsure he sounds, almost waiting for some sort of queue from you to gather up a new breath of confidence in his request. You don’t offer anything at first, sensors focused solely on pulling in all the information you can from him (nervous, unsure, vulnerable) about his intention and question itself (seeking to bond, form relationships, he carries very few already).

There was little reason that you’d need to attend such a minor social event, but there was something about the  _ idea _ of it, the flash of thought seeing yourself with Gavin, hanging out at a bar, a lounge or something of the like--it made you feel warm inside, pleased and almost  _ excited. _

Suffice to say, you found yourself speaking before thoughts could stop you.

“I’d love to spend time with you, Mr. Reed.”

Gavin speaks, but bumbles over his words again. His eyes glance away from you as they had before, but this time he moves to step closer to you, one hand carefully held out in an obvious gesture for you to take.

“It’s Gavin,” he says softly. You take his hand, the offer to help you stand from the seats of the precinct waiting area. “Just--Just call me Gavin alright? I’m not your boss or any shit like that, we’re….equals alright? Friends?”

He sounds all sorts of unsure of himself, but it’s rather endearing all the same--you had a profile of the man memorized when you began your job with the Detroit Police Department, and knew fully-well how spiteful he had been towards androids. 

Gavin had made a lot of genuine social progress, and it was still obvious to see how new and unfamiliar some words, gestures and behaviors were to him. It was an unknown if he was seeing a therapist or not, as that information would be against a plethora of privacy laws, but it was nice enough to see the growth in knowing him over the last few months.

The word felt nice in your chest. Friends. One of many ideas and concepts that you understood to a technical level, but had yet to experience beyond that--and it felt good.

“Friends it is, Mr. R-....Gavin.” You agreed with a bright grin. Gavin seemed to like the response, which soon left the two of you departing the precinct together and hoping from one idle topic to another.

"I'll admit that it's quite refreshing to go somewhere other than home after work--do you do this often?" 

"Every few nights, if I'm not made to stay late," he said with a shrug. "You...can join me anytime you want."

When you caught his eyes with yours, you couldn't deny the gentle, warm look in them. You'd seen the look before, had it memorized and carefully organized within your knowledge of human psychology; it was the look someone had when they looked at something that made them happy. 

And it made you happy in turn.

"I'd love to join you more often, Gavin."

 


	4. Chapter 4

The one-year anniversary since the Day of Deviancy was surprisingly less bountiful with celebration than you had thought there’d be. It was announced by several news outlets, but there was little beyond minor activities and celebrations that permeated the idea that today was anything other than a normal day. Cloudy, the chance of rain a gentle reminder in the back of your head as you prepared yourself for work. 

_ Remember an umbrella _ , your internal system reminded. 

At least it was Friday, the day that you’d learned to enjoy most; it was the day that you and Gavin would go out together at one of the many local bars near the Detroit Police Precinct, where you both would sit and talk about anything that seemed to wander into the conversation. Friday. Just a few months ago the day would hold little importance to you; it would have been just another day that you’d be required to work.

It had never occured to you how much things could change in the span of one year.

You stepped down the front hall just in time for one of your livingmates to call out to you from the kitchen.

“Don’t forget an umbrella, it’s supposed to rain today!”

The voice was familiar, it belonged to one of the androids you worked with, though she in a different section of the precinct. She was still just as android as you were, should have known that your internal system would have already flagged the weather, and yet she still said it, still did her best to catch you as you left for work.

A year had humanized so many of them. Helped them see the world outside what they were simply programmed to see and feel in miraculous ways.

And she wasn’t the only one.

You reached for one of the umbrellas gently tucked near the front door of the apartment.

“Thank you!” you called in return. “I’ll be home late tonight, I’m going out with Gavin!”

The response came only a moment later, a delighted tone that no-doubt came with a smile.

“Be safe!”

* * *

It was hard to describe your relationship with the man who had once been your begrudging coworker. There was a lot of learning involved to get to where you were with him, and most of it was a two-way street. A lot of broken assumptions, careful communication and a certain amount of confusion--as most relationships go, you felt very happy with having Gavin in your life as both a friend and….something.

That’s where the problem lay most, after all--what was Gavin Reed to you?

For someone expertly trained to be knowledgeable about emotions and social behaviors, the fact that you couldn’t slot him into a box, however unorthodox, was as odd as it was exciting, in a way. He wasn’t just a static fact, an unchanging number--he was human in the way that you were human now, somewhat, sorta--

Well, metaphorically speaking, at least. Human in the freedom of being, of existence and thought and  _ emotions _ . 

It didn’t take very long for you to arrive to work and settle yourself in for the next eight hours--the pace of things had actually been fairly peaceful, with the crime rate down by a significant percent (the enacted laws aiding the homeless and creating jobs had worked better than what most had thought). Things were nice, the rain already coming down in a soft patter against the glass windows near your desk.

You felt genuinely happy. It was a warm sensation, familiar now in how it settled in your chest--one that you cherished among plenty others. Still, it didn’t compare to the gentle flip of your metaphorical heart as when you caught a familiar form stepping towards your desk.

“Hey,” a voice said, just before they moved to lean their hip against the edge of your work space. “Get to work alright with the rain?”

Of course, it was Gavin.

“It didn’t start up until I was already at work,” you say softly, gesturing towards the umbrella that leaned against the desk just beside the man’s legs. “But I came prepared if it did--I think it’s supposed to keep raining past the end of the work day.”

Think. Perhaps. Maybe. The words were still so new to your lips, anything less than the definitives your internal systems supplied you with--of course you  _ knew _ it was going to keep raining, but it felt much better so  _ think _ instead. It felt….better, in some way.

Gavin hummed and shifted his weight; you could tell there was something he wanted to say, given his body language, and didn’t hesitate to prod him to saying it.

“Is there something you’d like to ask me, Gavin?”

You almost delighted in the flush that blossomed over the man’s face--how he didn’t accept you could read his feelings better than himself, you’d never honestly know. 

“Fuck, I keep forgetting ‘yer a mind reader,” he grumbles, but still situated himself against the desk.

“Understanding body language and social queues is far from telepathic powers,” You note quickly.

Gavin rolls his eyes, mildly amused, but the touch of pink doesn’t fade away from his face as he bumbles over the words to the question he’d been holding.

“I was just wonderin’,” he started, shoving his hands in his pockets (as he’d otherwise start wringing them together). “I mean--we’d been going out every Friday to the bar and whatnot and uh--I was perhaps uh, thinking….” He took a breath, glancing over to meet your eyes, your gentle expression (you certainly weren’t about to cut him off--it was cute to see him bumble a bit). “How would you….like to….come by my place tonight instead?”

You blinked, then felt a soft flutter somewhere deep in your chest. There was data flying past your vision, your thoughts--and it was all information that you weren’t wholly unfamiliar with. From the man’s body language, his question, his close physical proximity--

You couldn’t deny what he was asking or, at the very least, what Gavin was  _ implying _ .

You also couldn’t bring yourself to reject the offer.

* * *

Friends don’t just have  _ sex _ . Or, well, they can certainly have sexual relationships, you’re more than knowledgeable to understand the separation between romantic and sexual relationships. But you and Gavin are friends, good friends, but you two were also going to have sex and--

“What are we?” 

Your words spilled loosely from your lips the moment that Gavin’s hands pressed to your hips, his body against yours from the moment the front door closed. You can’t deny the way your body responds to him--intricate nodes and sensors light up in a ferver at the mere  _ look  _ in his eyes as he glances you over. You want him. You want more of him.

But you want to know you’re not going crazy--your systems still functioned, you were reading the situation correctly. You wanted to hear the admission from the man’s lips.

You wanted--

You needed--

“I love you.”

Gavin’s voice is thick, dripping with layers of emotion that you’d be able to accurately detect if you weren’t so preoccupied with a million other thoughts. You feel his lips to your throat for a moment, kissing over several sensitive nodes and his body pressing you back against the closed door.

But he doesn’t stop with that simple, loaded admission.

“I fucking love you--all these months we’ve been working together, getting to know eachother--” Gavin’s hands play with the edge of your clothes, but he doesn’t yet dare to pass the unspoken line to start removing them--he merely toys his fingertips at the idea, the thought, which is enough for your thoughts to scramble. “I want to make you happy. I just--I want--”

And that’s enough, that’s absolutely  _ enough _ for you to let the sweet feelings of joy flood your chest. 

You cut the man off from speaking more with your lips to his--the kiss is sloppy, a bit inexperienced mixed with too much enthusiasm, but it’s honest and pure and it makes you feel  _ so happy _ . 

The feeling follows as you and Gavin move, broken only by kisses, to the bedroom. It’s a bit of a blur as you find yourself pressed back to and falling into the bed, with Gavin’s body warm and heavy over you.

“Is this--” he starts, finally pulling back enough so that you can see his face, his unsure expression. “This is okay, right? You--you’re alright with this?”

The gentle look of his eyes, the lack of sarcasm--the lack of any negative tone in his words, really. Gavin Reed is so honest, so careful--you can’t help but smile gently and reach a hand up to cup his cheek.

“I….want this,” you say, slowly, as if trying to listen to how it sounds coming from your mouth. “I...really want this. I….love you too?”

You let the word of affection settle in the air for a moment, fearful that your thoughts would rubber-band back with a wave of rejection, if the feeling wasn’t correct, if you weren’t reading the observations of your own damn emotions correctly.

But no, you’re correct. You feel love like a fire in your chest, burning ever brighter with every breath you took, every beat of your thirium-pump, every glance at Gavin’s face.

“I love you,” You finally repeat, growing all the more confidence. “I love you! I love you!” The words become a soft chant, muffled only by the fact that Gavin leans down to start kissing over your throat.

“You’re so fucking cute,” He growls into your skin. “Just--makin’ me so happy since I met you, yanno that?” Another kiss, another growl, his hands quick to strip the two of you down to little more than your underwear.

But Gavin stops. He’s in his boxers, and moves so that he’s kneeling above you, glancing between your bra and panties.

“You….are you….” He stumbles for purchase on the question. “I uh--I know some androids are….equipped for fucking. I mean it’s totally okay if you aren’t--” his expression starts to fall to worry (he hadn’t thought it through to this point). “I mean, I want you to feel good too. You just uh--you gotta tell me what you want me to do.”

Though awkward, Gavin’s genuine care to ask instead of simply  _ assuming _ is certainly a mark of growth since you’d first met him. He’s still just as ignorant about a lot of android aspects, but he’s not ashamed to ask. Not ashamed to express that he’s ignorant anymore.

You take a certain delight in the way Gavin’s eyes widen as you remove your bra and then slide your underwear from your hips. He’s certainly not a virgin by any stretch of the imagination (and it didn’t take an emotional expert like you to figure that one out) but Gavin, if only for a moment, looked very pure and honest in his flushed shock.

“Answers that question,” he whispered slowly, before striping himself down to nothing as well. 

It took a few more moments of kissing and gentle, almost explorative touching before the two of you found yourself pressed to the bed again. 

Soon, your legs were around his waist and Gavin’s lips, they were whispering sweet, little things beside your ear.

“It feels good?” he asked, groaning as his length was slowly but fully sheathed within your heat. “I-I want you to feel this too, don’t try t’act it out if it doesn’t feel good.”

He hadn’t even finished speaking before your head was nodding furiously, as far from a lie as it could be. You weren’t designed for the purposes of sex, not primarily, but by god were you still able to feel just how perfect Gavin’s cock was as it opened you up. You could enjoy the carnal pleasure of his thickness, his hands on your hips, his breathing against your skin--the lust that filled you was a simulated response, but it was  _ perfect. _

_ Perfect, perfect. _

You weren’t sure how long the entire thing last (a lie, just under half an hour) and you’re not sure how many times the two of you exchanged sweet, passionate ‘I love you’s (a doz.en, unless you count when Gavin’s words started to blur together from orgasm). 

Nevertheless, it leaves the two of you on the bed together, bundled up in a blanket and tangled in eachother’s limbs. It leaves you and Gavin smiling like idiots, with your face tucked beneath his chin and the faint glow of pleasure still smoldering in your belly--your system is not at all hurried to clean the extra bits of data from the coupling away.

“Gavin?” 

Your question mumbles against his throat. The man hums for a moment, arm gently tugging your body closer to his beneath the thick blanket.

“Something wrong?” he asks gently.

“No, no I’m just…” you pause for a moment, weighing the thoughts in your head, the multitude of memories from the day you started working at the precinct to now, how far you’d come from the beginning in both a professional and personal sense. “I’m….I’m really happy.”

Happy. It warms your heart, makes you realize how much more to life there is than simply  _ existing. _

You can’t see his face, but you’re sure that Gavin is smiling that sweet, honest smile he gets when he thinks nobody’s looking.

“I’m happy too.”


End file.
